


Have(n't) I Done This Many Times Before

by ParadifeLoft



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Character Study, Dominion War (Star Trek), Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 07:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14666340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadifeLoft/pseuds/ParadifeLoft
Summary: Garak dreams of retaking Cardassia and defeating the Founders in his downtime.





	Have(n't) I Done This Many Times Before

**Author's Note:**

> Garak is a fucked-up bean with lots of feelings about Cardassia, and we love him dearly <3
> 
> Written for a dark/angsty prompt list on tumblr, for the entry, "I will kill you slowly and laugh as the light leaves your eyes".

Another correspondence package, another round of foot-dragging by the Federation brass to believe his _extremely confident_ analysis that Cardassia would soon boil over in defiance of the Dominion if given the slightest provocation. And to dignify it with the name _analysis_ even was nearly enough to make Garak laugh – to call it such was to make a trained art out of basic social comprehension possessed by any Cardassian past childhood.

There was a time he’d once thought himself past this intensity of resentment of the multitude of other species he’d had to make his life with.

So instead – he couldn’t call it _contentment_ , precisely – but he… _distracted_ himself, when it became a bit too much to deal with, by imagining the fate of the Founders once his home had been retaken. (He’d started these exercises imagining the methods he’d use to recapture Cardassia, in a world where his… Federation masters… would allow such a narrow focus on the one planet over the hundreds of others under Dominion threat; but with only his own creativity to conjure obstacles for his plotting, solutions came too quickly, too neatly, for it to entertain him for long. Perhaps a place where the catastrophizing of Julian’s genetically enhanced friends might have come in useful? Garak allowed himself a wry, bitter smile at the thought.)

Somewhere along the line (oh, no, he knew exactly where, but it wasn’t pleasant to dwell on that entire series of events, and so most often in thoughts he would carefully avoid it), Garak had lost much of his comfort with the ordinary, bodily _messiness_ of the work of torture. He didn’t exactly mourn it, but it did make fantasy a bit more difficult… Preventing a changeling from remorphing was simple and effective, at least for basic needs, with pampered Founders so accustomed to changing often at whim and unused to discomfort; but it was visually _unpleasant_ , and too… Well.

He can forgive himself, here, if he elides many of the details, the intricate methodology he once had pored over for the artistry of breaking bodies. It has always been the breaking of minds that has most captured him, after all – careful cuts to thoughts and impulses, into the perfect fragmented shapes for stitching back together into whatever final form most suited his task, whether those of individuals or of societal systems. And the task Garak has assigned himself with this imagined, defeated Founder is, at its heart, simple.

_What can you want from me?_ it asks, plaintive and still uncomprehending, in his mind’s eye. _We are defeated, you are already assuring that we can never threaten the Alpha Quadrant again, you’ve asked for no information – why do you not just kill me?_

_Oh, but you misunderstand_ , imagined-Garak purrs, something feral shining in the way he meets the Founder’s facsimile of eyes. _I_ will _kill you. But slowly. Perhaps it has even begun already – would you know? Last time you shifted, I think you might have looked a bit dimmer._

This Founder doesn’t understand his purpose yet; such a waste from a species whose stated interest is to gather experiences from all the far corners of the galaxy to partake in. He turns a dial to increase the intensity of the phaser beams of the ships above the Founders’ homeworld in his simulated Link. Garak isn’t worried; the creature is intelligent enough to grasp the symbolism soon enough. A prime seat from which to helplessly watch the destruction of its own people; a steady boiling-off of its best and brightest youth for no reason but the arrogant, incompetent folly of its so-called “leaders”.

A _ping_ sounds from the transmitter at Garak’s other desk, disrupting his reverie; his network has snared another encoded message from Cardassia Prime. He sets down the suitcoat he’s been hemming, making a dissatisfied click in his throat as he notices a crooked, too-wide set of stitches interspersed through his work so far, not at all up to his standards and not to mention simply _ugly_ now that they’ve come to his attention. He’ll have to redo most of the section if he wants to keep any sort of professional pride.

But distracting as it is, that commission won’t be due for another several day cycles, whereas anything for the war effort is by definition urgent. It is time to head back to Cardassia in spirit, now.

Time to head back to work.


End file.
